


Seek Me in Braavos

by Attaining



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A little fluffy, F/M, Gratuitous use of the phrase now and always, M/M, Mild Kink, Near Death Experiences, Romance, Shockingly Few Warnings, Theon is a hero for once, Visions, a little bit of porn, warfare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-06-09 18:48:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15273969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Attaining/pseuds/Attaining
Summary: Between life and death, Theon finds a reason to rise again. Set post-S7.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My brain apparently no longer wants to live in a 'verse where Robb Stark is really dead. XD; Just playing around with some free writing and this came out. Thanks for reading!
> 
> I gotta start spell-checking these cities...

"Where am I?" he called into the black, but it came out a bubbling warble. Theon spun in every direction, but there was no light, only dark ink. The dungeons of the Dreadfort? But that can't be...

No, he was not there. He was not.

This was water. He was floating. A fish swam by, a bulging eye giving him a questioning look. How could a fish have a question?

 _I'm dead._ Was this the watery halls of the Drowned God? Or perhaps the barren sea outside it, for he certainly knew no honor worthy of an eternity feasting with mermaids and the ironborn. He supposed only suffering would find him in death.

A sudden light caught his eye and though it seemed ridiculous, he recalled the days of his youth when he was a swimmer, before he lost fingers and toes and strength. So he swam and swam past long strings of kelp reaching toward the water's break, past fish in colors he had never seen before, past the bones of dead men dressed in Westerosi armor instead of worn leather. He swam until a figure appeared before him. _Drowned God._

"I'm no god," a steady voice said. It cut through the water, clear as day. Theon thought his heart might stop. "Greyjoy."

"Robb?" he sputtered and he was choking then. The water filled his lungs and he felt the weight of it pressing in around him. His eyes would pop from his head like fish eggs if this kept up. He called again, reaching frantically for the figure in front of him. "Robb!"

With one touch, the water sank beneath him, bringing him to his hands and knees. A thousand oceans rushed by, all the fish and all the bones, crushing him into the ground. Thunder was in his ears as it all drained away to reveal the green lands of the North. He couldn't move, a pale fish on dry land, mouth gaping and sucking for air. A clap of a hand hit his back and he threw up water.

Coughing, he sat up on the grass, but he was not cold and he was not wet. More than that, he did not hurt and Theon could not remember the last time he felt no pain. Whether it was his maimed foot, his missing fingers, his battered nethers or his joints twisted and stretched too far to recover, Theon was always in pain. He stared at his hands and they were whole. He ran his tongue over full teeth. When he placed a hand quickly to his loins, he felt his prick there. Whole. He was whole again.

"Don't get tearful on me now," Robb tutted and Theon could only stare. Warm and lively as the last day he saw him, Robb stood in his winter furs, red curls swaying in the wind, his sword at his side. A king. His king. "Isn't this where you tell me you're sorry and that you should have died with me?"

He swallowed, unable to speak. What could he say? If he was here with Robb, he must already be dead.

"You would like that, wouldn't you? You think you're too far gone to ever come back."

Theon nodded slowly. "What I did to you... I was stupid. I was a fool. I can't ever make it right."

“You can. Remember your promise. Now and always.”

Robb took three strides toward him and Theon saw beasts he had never seen before stalk the grass behind him. They were grand and grey, large ears like fat leaves and a long nose like a tail. Men rode atop them, gold decorated their heads. Robb pulled him into a hug, sturdy, solid. Theon thought he might die then and there to feel Robb again. The King in The North whispered in his ear, "Seek me in Braavos."

"What?" he managed to ask before Robb's gentle hands on his neck turned hard and squeezed. Theon gagged at the assault as water poured in from every direction. He was drowning again. Water stung his eyes and he blinked it away, a blurry visage above him.

"Seek me in Braavos."

Theon sucked in air as he thrust himself from the water, his Uncle Euron's shocked face over him, his hands still hovering above Theon after choking the life from his little nephew. His four fingers wrapped around the battle axe he had lost in the surf, and Theon rose from the water a wild creature with arms unstoppable. He wrapped his hand around his uncle's leathers and steadied himself. The axe in his hand was swift and light for his lesser strength, but it sunk cleanly into Euron's throat, blood spraying into Theon's eyes. As his uncle choked and fell, he saw Yara's wide stare.

Dirty, thin, Euron had brought her into battle chained at the neck and hands. Hands she now held out to him as time seemed to slow. He broke the chains between her wrists and she grabbed their uncle's great axe like a siren risen to lure each sailor to his death. And as she struck down the three men nearest her, Theon tossed her the key he retrieved from Euron's corpse. She freed herself and no one moved. The tides had shifted. The sole surviving Greyjoy children now back to back, feral and ready. The ironborn felt it in their blood, their Drowned God had chosen. Yara and Theon had risen, great krakens from the sea. _What is dead may never die._

The ironborn looked to her and through her panting breaths, she hauled her axe toward the castle. With a guttural cry, she yelled, "The ironborn take King's Landing!"

In a hail of screams, the fleet turned away from their petty squabble and stormed the beaches. The soldiers of Westeros dallied in their confusion, uncertain of why their allies had turned so suddenly. At their lead ran Yara and Theon. Though Theon had ambushed his uncle in Cersei’s own bay with only a handful of cobbled together ships, he banked on his uncle’s arrogance. He wanted to kill Theon with his own hands. _Like Ramsay. I learned well._ The ships took longer, but Theon could not hear the competing cannon fire. Instead, the walls of King's Landing saw an assault they had not seen since Stannis' failed attack. _They_ would not fail; they had the sea on their side.

He felt the eastern winds kiss his cheeks. _Soon_ , he promised to the distant land across the sea. _Let me survive this fool’s errand so that I might find another._ It was only a moment between life and death, but it felt real.

“Seek me in Braavos.”  

_I'll find you, now and always._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon sails for Braavos.
> 
> There's a little bit porn here. And sorry, it's not Throbb.

Yara called him a hopeless cunt and gave him a ship that sailed from King’s Landing. She gave him a crew, too, a group that looked far too ugly and sea weary to have any interest in the merchant life.  _ Nursemaids, for me. And for her other project.  _

“Men come here thinking a banker’s cock spills gold,” Ellaria Sand complained, freed from the dungeons a cornered viper, ready to strike any who moved in her direction. She wore black in mourning and Theon thought she was never like to wear another color again.

“You didn’t have to come,” he said, but they both knew better. She almost slit the throat of a maid who entered her chamber while she slept and had became so enraged in argument with Yara, Ellaria nearly strangled her. Dorne will not see me in such a state, she had said. After Yara won the Kingsmoot, she had her own wounds to heal and an island nation divided to rule. She had no time for Theon or Ellaria. 

“Your people interest me. You’re not afraid to be rid of the weak and you value loyalty. But this pledge your sister made, they will not bend easily.” 

_ Her interest lies within my sister’s bedchamber,  _ Theon thought, but he said, “Trade with Essos is easier to swallow than Westeros.”

“Do not make me laugh, you are here to chase your ghosts and nothing more. I will do the real work and return to Dorne. You’ll find no one in Braavos, and if you are lucky, you will live to say you did.”

\---

Three months later as Ellaria crawled over him naked and panting, she pressed her nails into his neck. “Give up.”

He gasped as she ground her womanhood against his ugly flesh. “No.”

“What could your ghost do for you that I could not?” She bit his neck and rocked her fingers inside of him with such fierce vigor his hips rose from the cot.  _ Gods, she’s persistent.  _ “You could be under my service back in Dorne instead of this piss poor cabin you insist on living in.”

Theon panted against her neck, slapping her ass and cupping the flesh there, the way she liked. “I won’t leave him again. Not your servant.”

“You’d be better off if you were,” she chided, tongue finding its way into his mouth and teeth sank into his bottom lip. He groaned as she left him empty and swallowed a scream as something large and smooth, slicked with oil, pressed inside of him. Theon squeezed his eyes shut, relaxing and letting the stone sink deep. She would fuck him mercilessly until he begged for release. If she was in a pleasant mood, she’d give it to him. Otherwise, “I’ll leave you here. Just like this. Stuffed too tight and unsatisfied.”

_ Why did I fall into bed with Ellaria Sand?  _ He bucked against her suddenly as she shifted the stone inside him. 

“You need someone to put you in your place,” she said, licking down his neck. “Your foolish errand has run out of time. We sail back tomorrow.”

“No,” he replied firmly, squirming beneath her as she ceased her movement.  _ So full. Fuck, it’s so hard I might break.  _ He rolled her nub between his wet fingers and she grinned against his shoulder. 

“Blame your Onion Knight. He took your ship from you,” Ellaria pointed out, pumping him fast and he cried out. “Come back with me, or you will not finish tonight.”

Theon pulled her down to meet his lips, teasing his fingers into her cunt and giving her something to cry out about. He knew her body well by now and though it sent bolts of heat throughout his stomach he lunged forward and guided her hips to his face, her hands finding their way to his hair instead of filling him with her toys. Two fingers and his tongue were all he needed to have her slamming her hand into the wooden walls of the ship until he feared it might crack. When he had lapped up the last of her juices, she settled onto his stomach, her face flushed. Her wet heat slid over his scars.

“I would not do the same to you,” he whispered, brushing his hand across her cheek as anger flashed across her face. She slapped him and scowled.  _ She’s a viper again.  _

“You’re determined to suffer. You’re a fool. I should kill you in your sleep and spare the world your judgment.” 

He met her eye with a bittersweet twitch of his lips. “I wouldn’t have made it through peace without you either. Kiss my sister for me.”

So they left him. He thought about renting a room in the brothel, but felt dizzy and panicked the moment he stepped inside. A tavern would do. He offered to serve in exchange for room and board. (The owner scoffed that he wasn’t pretty enough to be a wench, but gave him the job anyway.)

Eight more months passed and a letter came threatening to have him personally retrieved from Braavos if he did not sail for home. It was from Sansa. 

In truth, even he wondered what he searched for in this fucking city. Did he expect to land and have Robb waiting at the bloody docks for him?  _ Maybe it is a malady from Ramsay. Only a madman would spend a year searching for a dead man in a city he’d never been to in life.  _ He had nightmares of betraying Robb every night for months. Then there were the other dreams, the ones with hands on naked skin, Robb buried deep inside him while Theon begged his King to fuck him harder… He was tired of searching lord-like social circles to find nothing. He was tired of sellswords mocking him and shoving him out of their camps. He had visited every learned family in the damn city, every seedy boarding house, every sword for hire.

He was at his wits end, no sleep and unable to stomach more than porridge. He had let a drunk slob drag him to the alley only to be spat on when his hand groped between Theon's legs. He threw up and owed the tavern an extra day’s wages. When Ramsay started to comment on his behavior, ice eyes and mocking voice, he had had enough of his visions and thought to return to Pyke. They could call him mad as well as a eunuch, maybe they’d force him into the Drowned God’s service. The sellswords called him a maiden lost and more than a few offered their swords to fill his lonely cunt. None saw him as a man and Theon did not wish to ponder his own opinion on the matter.

“Sorry,” he muttered, shoving past a stranger as he made way for the docks. He detested crowds and wanted to get through as fast he could. He took no more than two steps before his sack was snatched from behind, swinging Theon around to catch half of a fist to his face. Familiar pain exploded in bright colors before his eyes but he recovered quickly enough to avoid the next swing. Unfortunately, he backed right into the man’s two friends, who held him fast by the arms. He retched after a fist met his stomach, but two more men with swords stepped in and with a single thrust to a man’s gut, saw him freed. He stayed bent over, catching his breath.

When he turned, it would be Robb who saved him. He shoved away the foolish, unbidden thought and stood to thank the men. His heart sank that it was two ironborn sailors. “Your sister wants you on Pyke.”

Theon nodded solemnly.  _ Stop pretending. You failed him years ago. It cannot be undone. _

As they approached the docks, he could see the golden kraken on the black sails. One ship to carry him there and one to bring him back. An ironborn elbowed past him. “Stop moping like my salt wife. We sail on the hour.”

He snatched his sack from the ground once more and turned to board when he felt someone grab his wrist.  _ Not those fucking sellswords again.  _

Theon rounded on him. A man, full grown with broad shoulders held him, his auburn curls whipping in the sea winds. He had blue eyes, sharp and furious. 

He sucked in a breath, willing his heart to beat again. “Gods.”

“I'm no god, Greyjoy,” the man said. “I’ve watched you. You’ve changed.”

Theon swallowed. “I have. I hope I have. You… you’re…”

“Not the same.”

“You’re alive,” he stammered and brought his mangled hands to hold the face before him. His stubble was rough under Theon’s touch, but he was as warm as the hot springs of Winterfell. “My King. My brother. Robb.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't exactly expecting to add a second chapter, but here we are! How did that Ellaria/Theon get in there? I hope it treats you well. Thanks so much for taking time out of your day to read.


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